The Other Miss Bridgerton

He stepped toward the bed, reaching toward her gag, but both Green and Brown leapt forward, Green grabbing his arm and Brown actually wedging his body between the captain and the bed.

“You do not want to do that,” Green said ominously.

“I beg you, sir,” Brown pleaded, “do not remove the gag.”

The captain stopped for a moment and looked from man to man. “What, pray tell, is she going to do?”

Green and Brown said nothing, but they both backed up, almost to the wall.

“Good God,” the captain said impatiently. “Two grown men.”

And then he removed the gag.

“You!” Poppy burst out, practically spitting at Green.

Green blanched.

“And you,” she growled at Brown. “And you!” she finished, glaring at the captain.

The captain quirked a brow. “And now that you’ve demonstrated your extensive vocabulary—”

“I am going to kill each and every one of you,” she hissed. “How dare you tie me up and leave me here for hours—”

“It was thirty minutes,” Brown protested.

“It felt like hours,” she railed, “and if you think I’m going to sit here and accept this type of abuse from a pack of idiot pirates—”

She coughed uncontrollably. The bloody captain had shoved the gag back in.

“Right,” the captain said. “I understand perfectly now.”

Poppy bit his finger.

“That,” he said smoothly, “was a mistake.”

Poppy glared at him.

“Oh, and by the by,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “we prefer the term privateer .”

She growled, grinding her teeth around the gag.

“I’ll remove that,” he said, “if you promise to behave.”

She hated him. Oh, how she hated him. It had taken less than five minutes, but already she was certain she’d never hate anyone with quite the same intensity, with the same fervor, with—

“Very well,” he said, shrugging. “We set sail precisely at four, if you’re interested.”

And then he just turned and walked to the door. Poppy grunted. She had no choice.

“Can you behave?” he asked, his voice annoyingly silky and warm.

She nodded, but her eyes were mutinous.

He walked back to the bed. “Promise?” he asked mockingly.

Her chin jerked in a furious approximation of a nod.

He leaned down and gingerly removed the gag.

“Water,” she gasped, hating that she was begging.

“Happy to oblige,” he said, pouring her a glass from the pitcher on his table. He held it to her lips while she drank, since her hands were still tied. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Not just now, but it may,” he said, “when we return.”

“You can’t take me!” she protested.

“It’s either that or kill you,” he said.

Her mouth fell open. “Well, you can’t do that either.”

“I don’t suppose you have a gun hidden in your dress,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the wall as he crossed his arms.

Her lips parted with surprise, and then she quickly covered her reaction and said, “Maybe.”

He laughed, drat the man.

“I’ll give you money,” she said quickly. Surely he could be bought. He was a pirate, for heaven’s sake. Wasn’t he?

He lifted a brow. “I don’t suppose you’ve a purse of gold hidden in that dress.”

She scowled at his sarcasm. “Of course not. But I can get you some.”

“You want us to ransom you?” he asked, smiling.

“No! Of course not. But if you release me—”

“No one’s releasing you,” he interrupted, “so just stop your—”

“I’m sure if you think about it—” she cut in.

“I’ve thought all I need to—”

“—you’ll see that it—”

“We are not letting you—”

“—really isn’t such a good idea to—”

“I said we’re not letting you—”

“—hold me hostage. I’m sure to get in the way and—”

“Can you be quiet?”

“—I eat a lot too, and—”

“Does she ever shut up?” the captain asked, turning to his men by the door.

Green and Brown shook their heads.

“—I’ll surely be an inconvenience,” Poppy finished.

There was a moment of silence, which the captain seemed to savor. “You make a rather fine argument for killing you,” he finally said.

“Not at all,” she quickly put in. “It was an argument to let me go, if you must know.”

“Clearly, I must,” he muttered. Then he sighed, the tired sound his first sign of weakness, and said, “Who are you?”

“I want to know what you plan to do with me before I give up my identity,” Poppy said.

He motioned lazily to her bindings. “You’re not really in a position to make demands now, are you?”

“What are you going to do with me?” she repeated. It was probably foolish to remain so headstrong, but if he was going to kill her, he was going to kill her, and her display of temper wasn’t going to tip the scales either way.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his nearness disconcerting. “I will humor you,” he said, “since despite your waspy tongue, you’re here through little fault of your own.”

“No fault,” she muttered.

“You never learn, do you?” he asked. “And here I was going to be nice to you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“Not terribly sincere, but I’ll allow it,” he said. “And much as it pains me to inform you, you will be our guest aboard the Infinity for the next two weeks, until we complete our voyage.”

“No!” Poppy cried out, the horrified sound escaping her lips before she could press her bound hands to her mouth.

“I’m afraid so,” he said grimly. “You know where our cave is, and I can’t leave you behind. Once we return, we’ll clear it out and let you go.”

“Why don’t you clear it out now?”

“I can’t,” he said simply.

“You mean you won’t.”

“No, I mean I can’t,” he repeated. “And you’re starting to annoy me.”

“You can’t take me with you,” Poppy said, hearing her voice crack. Good God, she wanted to cry. She could hear it in her voice, feel it in the burning sensation behind her eyes. She wanted to cry like she hadn’t cried in years, and if she didn’t get ahold of herself, she was going to lose her control right here in front of this man—this awful man who held her very fate in his hands.

“Look,” he said, “I do sympathize with your plight.”

Poppy shot him a look that said she didn’t believe him for a second.

“I do,” he said gently. “I know how it feels to be backed into a corner. It isn’t fun. Especially for someone like you.”

Poppy swallowed, unsure if his words were compliment or insult.

“But the truth is,” he continued, “this ship must depart this afternoon. The wind and tides are favorable, and we must make good time. You should just thank your maker we’re not the killing sort.”

“Where are we going?” she whispered.

He paused, obviously considering her question.

“I’m going to know when we get there,” she said impatiently.

“True enough,” he said, his small smile almost a salute. “We sail for Portugal.”

Poppy felt her eyes bug out. “Portugal?” she echoed, her throat strangling over the word. “Portugal? Will it really be two weeks?”

He shrugged. “If we’re lucky.”

“Two weeks,” she whispered. “Two weeks.” Her family would be frantic. She’d be ruined. Two weeks. A whole fortnight.